Roll of the Dice
by AveryBraden
Summary: When Jake Green is taken prisoner by Major Beck, he relives some of the choices of his past and tries to find the strength to tackle what is to come. A companion piece to the season two epsiode "Sedition."
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** This story is a collaborative effort between myself and SandraDeee. Portions of dialogue from the Season 2 episode "Sedition" were used in this story, though I think we've managed to give it our own spin and fill in some missing components. Credit for some dialogue goes to Carol Barbee, Matthew Federman, and Stephen Scaia.

**Disclaimer:** Neither my co-writer nor myself own Jericho. We are merely exercising our writing muscles.

* * *

**Part One**

Adrenaline coursed through Major Edward Beck. He could feel it in every fiber. His heart pounded, so much so, he thought he could hear it. But to anyone looking, he appeared calm. In control. It was a perfectly crafted persona, and it was necessary. He would provide order in a sea of chaos. "Everyone in position?" He looked to one of his subordinates.

The young soldier who stood attentively replied, "Our men are standing by. They've been fully briefed on targets and objectives, Sir."

Beck's eyes hardened. "They had their chance." He left the semi-privacy of his office and walked to the outer office that housed the sheriff's department. He took no pleasure in knowing that the sheriff himself was party to the act of vigilantism against John Goetz. He eyed his men. "You all know who we're looking for. Let's bring 'em in."

Around Jericho, the A.S. Army fanned out in search of the Rangers, searching homes and businesses. Personal mementos were cast aside in efforts to uncover the outlaws' whereabouts.

In the Greens' house, Major Beck himself picked up a framed photo of Gail Green holding a dark haired baby. He could only guess that baby to be Jake. Beck quickly put it aside. It was better not to look at such things. Photos humanized the insurgents, and Beck couldn't allow himself that luxury.

* * *

Jimmy Taylor paced nervously as he looked at his friends and fellow Rangers, all of whom were hiding in an abandoned warehouse just past the outskirts of town. He remembered the fateful day nearly nine months earlier when his son Woody was witness to the bomb that exploded in Denver. Though Woody was relatively safe—100 miles away on a rooftop in Jericho, Kansas—when the attacks occurred, the youngster had been plagued by nightmares ever since. And now with what was undoubtedly happening in town? All Jimmy knew was that his wife Margaret was a saint, and he was making her life more difficult. "My kids are probably freaking out. I should be home right now."

Eric shook his head. "They'll be watching our homes, Jimmy. Getting arrested won't help your family."

Jimmy opened his mouth to protest, but stopped short. Eric was right. Turning himself in wouldn't make matters better for his family. He just hated the waiting. It was setting all of them on edge. He could see it in the way Bill tapped his fingers on the table, the way Emily's shoulders slumped, and it looked like it was even wearing on Jake. As for Stanley, he'd not said much and mostly spent time away from the group. Jimmy could understand that. Despite the fact that he had worked in law enforcement for over a decade, he had never seen anything like what happened when Stanley silently walked up to John Goetz, aimed a gun at the man's head, and pulled the trigger.

Jimmy's best friend and fellow deputy backed him up. "We should go plead our case to Beck. Goetz was a murderer." Bill paused but then spoke with confidence. "It had to be done."

Jake clenched his jaw. "Unfortunately Beck said no revenge killings. He's not going to let it go."

Stanley, uncharacteristically quiet, had been left to his grief and guilt. But looking around, he knew he couldn't let this continue. Not for what he'd done. He stood and began walking past Jake toward the door.

Jake, seeing this, felt his heart drop. "Where are you going?" he demanded.

Stanley spoke dispassionately. "To turn myself in."

Jake quickly closed the distance between himself and his old friend, pushing him against the wall in the process. "Stanley! Stanley!" He had to reason with him before Stanley did something else rash.

Stanley struggled against Jake. "Get off me!"

But Jake wouldn't budge. Stanley had already lost too much. Jake wasn't about to let him lose his freedom so that Beck could claim his pound of flesh. "You're staying here with us. That's all there is to it."

Stanley's quiet melted as tears filled his eyes. "Just let me go. Please. Just let me go."

A sudden knock on the door prompted an end to the discussion as the Rangers quickly drew their weapons. Upon seeing Robert Hawkins enter the warehouse, they lowered them just as quickly.

Jake approached the newcomer. "It didn't take Beck long to figure out what happened to Goetz."

Hawkins crossed his arms. "Word around town is he doesn't seem to have the whole picture. He knows the Rangers were involved. Doesn't seem to know I was there. And I don't think he's figured out who pulled the trigger."

Jake shook his head. "It doesn't really matter. We can't stay here forever, and we can't take on the whole army."

"Jake, I know you want to protect your friend, but it's only going to get worse until Beck gets the shooter."

With a slight nod, Jake replied, "There's only one thing to do."

* * *

Searching around town had turned up nothing. But they would keep searching until they turned up someone, Beck had instructed his men. It was then that one of his sentries ran inside the city hall and announced with excitement. "He's coming, Major Beck! Sheriff Green is coming!"

Major Beck motioned for five of his men to flank his sides, and they left city hall. Sure enough, Jake Green was approaching the building with his hands raised in surrender.

Beck was distrustful. He'd studied Green—and men like him—enough to know that looks could be deceiving, but he would play the game. "This is a good start. Where's the rest of them?"

Hands still raised, Jake tried to deflect the major's question. "This is my fault and no one else's. I'm the sheriff—"

Beck interrupted, "You _were_ sheriff." He spoke crisply, maintaining calm in his voice for the crowd that gathered to witness the exchange, though inside he seethed. Life for everyone would've been a hell of a lot easier if Jake Green would have just listened to him instead of trying to buck him at every turn. It had only come to this point because Jake allowed it.

Jake persisted, "I'm the one to blame. The only one, so my terms are simple: my surrender for the amnesty of the other Rangers."

"I accept your surrender." His voice dropped briefly before he added, "But not the terms."

One of the soldiers circled around Jake and secured his hands behind his back using a plastic tie cord. Acting quickly and in concert, another placed a black hood over Jake's head.

The townspeople stood by watching in horror as Jake was dragged away, struggling. Beck caught sight of Heather Lisinski, but quickly turned, his face a mask, but not before he saw her hand go to her stomach, and the look of shock on her face. Beck wondered if she felt nauseated. He knew _he _did.

* * *

Sometime later, Jake felt himself being forced down into a chair, his hands still bound behind his back. Even through the hood, he could smell the putrid odor of hogs. Though he could see nothing, he knew there had to have been several men in the room with him, for he could hear their footsteps. Suddenly, he felt the hood being pulled from his head.

It was Major Beck. Jake watched as Beck pulled a folding chair closer to where Jake sat, straddled the metal chair, and looked him square in the eye.

"You got me. What more do you want?"

"The truth would be a good start." Beck was trying to reason with him.

Jake's right eyebrow shot up. "I killed Goetz."

Beck continued the staredown. "You're lying."

"No. He was my problem." It sounded reasonable enough to Jake. After all, he had made it clear to Beck more than once that Goetz being in Jericho could only end in disaster.

Beck fell into the good cop routine. Jake could spot it from a mile away. "I know you and the Rangers had a shootout with Ravenwood killing several men in self-defense. I know that you subdued and disarmed Goetz. I know that you attempted to arrest him. And I know that Stanley Richmond then killed him."

Jake had to fight not to flinch at Beck's last statement. "Where are you getting all this?"

Beck replied, "I have a reliable source."

Jake couldn't wrap his brain around who would've told the major those details, but now that the cat was out of the bag, he would have to try a different tactic. "He killed my best friend's sister." Jake's voice softened as he spoke of Bonnie. All too briefly, images of her as a little girl flashed through his mind. She wasn't that little girl anymore, but she would never get to experience all the things that should have been ahead of her, either. "She was eighteen years old."

As Beck said, "I know," Jake could've sworn he saw the composure slip from the Army man's features to reveal compassion.

"And that was the end of a long line of murders. He needed to be dealt with."

Just as quickly as the façade had slipped, Beck reverted to his no nonsense, by-the-book self. "You're not a judge. You don't get to make that call. Tell me where I can find Stanley, and all this will end."

Jake clenched his jaw. "I'm not giving him up. If that's what you're waiting for, you're gonna be here a very long time."

Beck stood. "Bring him in."

Two soldiers appeared with Russell. Jake had first met Russell several months ago at Black Jack Fairgrounds. The man from New Bern had carried himself with such confidence, but the man brought in by the soldiers bore little resemblance to the man Jake knew. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw the angry gash on the side of Russell's head.

"Your friend Russell, he said the same thing." Beck nodded and his soldiers took Russell out of the room. He turned his full attention to Jake. "But everybody breaks …eventually." Jake looked at him defiantly as Beck continued, "Until you do, these four walls will be your entire world. You will not sleep unless I let you. You will not eat unless I feed you. You will give me what I want." Jake glared at him. "I'll check back with you in a day."

With that, Beck exited the room. Jake's eyes darted around the makeshift cell looking for a way out. But before he could fully get his bearings, he felt himself dropping to the floor. He'd been pushed off the chair by Beck's men. His arms still bound behind him, Jake was unable to break his fall. His body smarted, but he'd been through far worse.

Jake listened as the men left the room and the lock slid into place. The room was dark. Solitary confinement. Was this the best Beck could do?

But the darkness was brief. All too brief because then Jake found himself flooded in light and heat, as though the sun itself was locked in the room with him.

* * *

In the last hour, Heather Lisinski witnessed two things she never thought she would see. One was military personnel barging into people's homes and businesses, hunting for the good guys. The other was Edward Beck having a hood placed over Jake Green's head and the town's hero being treated like a common criminal. No, not even as well as a common criminal. A common criminal would have had access to a lawyer, would never have been taken away hooded. She tried to push aside the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she couldn't.

She had known she needed to get word to the Rangers. Figuring out their location hadn't been too difficult for her. She remembered the old Simmons warehouse as being one that the Rangers used from time to time for training.

Careful that she was not being followed, Heather finally made her way there. It appeared completely deserted as she arrived, but as came closer, she could hear the voices inside. Rushing into the warehouse, she found the Rangers gathered, looking positively glum.

"Beck took Jake," Heather announced, her voice nearly frantic.

Eric looked up from a map he was studying. Concern was etched on his features. "What? Where?"

Heather shook her head, and she fought to keep herself calm. "I don't know. Jake tried to surrender. They put a hood over his head and dragged him away."

Bill let out a sigh. "I don't think it's safe for us to stay here."

Emily shot the deputy a dirty look. "He isn't gonna talk."

Heather looked from Emily to the others gathered. "He won't have to." She thought of all the searches that had taken place in town. Having witnessed the major's thoroughness with New Bern, Heather knew he would expand the radius of his search. "At the rate Beck's going, it'll only be a couple of days before he finds this place."

Jimmy swallowed hard. He had imagined that Beck was having Jericho searched, but hearing that it was actually taking place was certainly no comfort. "Maybe Stanley was right. Maybe he turns himself in, Beck doesn't destroy the town."

Emily looked to Jimmy. "Nobody's turning Stanley in."

Eric straightened up. "We are not giving up on Jake either. Now this is still a negotiation." He paused almost imperceptibly, a plan formulating. "What we need is leverage against Beck. Everybody get your gear."

Heather watched the flurry of activity around her as the men, except for Stanley who sat quietly in a corner, procured their weapons and ammunition. They quickly cleared the warehouse leaving Heather and Emily.

"You're not going with them?" Heather asked.

Emily tilted her head toward Stanley, silently indicating her reason. "I don't know if it's safe for you to be going back and forth. If you bring the Army here on top of us, a lot of people are going to die."

Emily's words stung Heather. Their friendship had become strained since her return from New Bern, but were they really to this point? "Let me ask you something. Are you giving that warning to everyone or just me?"

"Fair enough. Let me be blunt." Emily crossed her arms. "I want to know where your loyalty lies."

Heather's eyes fixed on Emily before she glanced over her friend's shoulder, catching sight of Stanley. Her heart ached for what he must have been going through. That put in perspective her own discomfort at the conversation. "I can't believe you would even ask."

"You've worked with Major Beck to undermine the place where you grew up. I'm sure there are some people in New Bern who have a hard time believing you would do that to them." As she spoke, Emily picked up a gun holster and looped her belt through it. "Am I supposed to believe that you won't sell us out if Beck asks you?"

Heather swallowed hard. An old saying came to mind: no good deed goes unpunished. She went to New Bern to help turn on the lights for Jericho, only to uncover a plot against her adopted home. She set off explosives in the factory, only to be taken captive and nearly killed. She tried to help the Army restore order in New Bern, largely to ensure Jericho's continued safety, only to have a bounty put on her head. And now she brought word of Jake's imprisonment, only to have her so-called friend question her loyalty. She'd already gone against Beck, albeit subversively, by stealing from his data notebook and had felt incredibly guilty for using the trust he'd placed in her against him. Why did a man who had known her for only a few months put more trust in her than a friend she'd known for four years? "You have no idea what I've done for this place."

Emily shook her head, her expression softening. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just worried about Jake. I didn't want him to turn himself in, but Jake…," her voice trailed off momentarily before she finished, "he had to."

"He's going to make it through this," Heather reassured her. "You heard Eric. He won't be left behind."

Emily placed her gun in the holster on her hip. "But what are they doing to him in the meantime?"

Heather said nothing.

Emily continued, "I know you think Beck is just doing his job, but there is something wrong about this whole thing. Is it so important for him to save face that he won't rest until he has Stanley? I've known Stanley Richmond most of my life, and what Beck wants…it isn't justice."

Heather couldn't disagree with Emily entirely, but she couldn't entirely write off the major either. She'd seen the care Beck had given to strangers who were suffering from illness. She'd seen him go around his chain of command to help them. "But he thinks it is. With Major Beck, everything is black and white. Right or wrong."

"Then you need to make him see the gray," Emily insisted.

* * *

It was getting late, Heather realized as she sat at her desk and glanced at the clock for the umpteenth time in the last three hours. Her eyes fell on Beck's office; it was still empty. For what must've been the umpteenth time, she replayed in her mind what she planned to say to him once he arrived.

But still he did not show. Neither did Jake.

She stood, leaned against her desk, and walked to the coffee pot. The coffee, though still warm, had a thick look to it. She and Jake used to joke about how they were surviving on coffee. She wondered if he was okay…wherever he was.

He wasn't being held in one of the jail cells at town hall. That much was clear. As much as Heather hated the thought of Jake being a prisoner, she felt as though she could better stomach the idea if he had been imprisoned in plain sight, not spirited away to some unknown destination.

And what was going on wherever they'd taken him? A lump formed in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. She tried to fight it down, for what good would she be able to do him—to do any of them—if she couldn't keep her head screwed on straight?

She took a deep breath and approached Lt. Jones, a man she considered to be one of the more easygoing of the military men who inhabited the office area of town hall. "Have you heard anything from Major Beck?" She tried to sound casual. "I have some documents that need his attention."

"There's no ETA, Ms. Lisinski. You may be waiting a long time."

"So I guess they took Jake Green pretty far from here then. I mean, if I'm going to be waiting a long time."

Lt. Jones grunted softly. "You know I'm not authorized to tell you anything."

"Just making conversation." She returned to her desk and played the waiting game. She was becoming a master of that game.

* * *

"You been here all night?"

Major Beck's voice jarred Heather from her restless sleep. She lifted her head from her desk, and Beck noted the indentation left on her face from the edge of the notebook on which she'd rested.

Heather tried to push her grogginess aside. "Yeah." The major handed her a cup filled with steaming coffee. "Thanks. I was waiting for you actually."

Beck inclined his head toward his office and began walking in that direction. Heather followed, coffee cup in hand, a silent prayer on her lips that she would be able to say something that would change his mind.

As the reinforced, bullet-proof glass door closed behind them, Beck commented, "Must've been important."

Heather took a deep breath. "I think you know why I'm here. What you're doing is wrong."

Beck stiffened. "I'm doing my job."

"Where is Jake?" Heather blurted. She winced inwardly. _So much for subtlety_.

"In a secure location. Is there anything else?"

"Don't do this," she gently pleaded.

"Heather, I respect your feelings, but I have a job to do. I cannot allow an open insurrection. If we are to return to a nation of order, this cannot continue."

"A nation of order?" she echoed. "By _force_? You led him away with a hood over his head. It looked like something an executioner would use at a hanging!"

"Funny you mention a hanging. John Goetz would know about hanging. If he didn't have half his head blown away."

Heather grimaced, her imagination providing a grotesque picture.

Beck continued, "Tell me, did you have rules in your classroom?"

"Of course, but…"

"And if a student did not follow the rules, weren't there consequences?"

"There's a big difference between reprimanding a student for stealing a classmate's box of crayons and imprisoning someone without legal representation and without the presumption of innocence."

Beck sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms over his chest. "And would you allow the child to steal another's crayons unscathed? Surely that would just encourage more theft if there were never any consequences. Next thing you know, you're spending all your time on classroom management rather than teaching. I know Jake didn't kill John Goetz, but he's not innocent."

"So Jake's your example," Heather stated, unable to hide the disappointment that crept into her voice.

"Jake put himself in the middle of this," Beck insisted.

Heather shook her head slightly. "You hired me as your liaison because I know this town, and I have to tell you, you've misread the situation entirely, Major. You aren't going to discourage resistance. You're only going to make Jake and the Rangers dig deeper."

"I can appreciate your concerns, and they are noted, but I know what I'm doing. I will restore order to Jericho."

Heather ran her teeth over her bottom lip. She felt like she'd run smack into a brick wall. "The only one causing disorder right now is you." With that, she exited Beck's office and kept walking.

* * *

Beck followed Heather with his eyes until she was out of sight. Of all the people in town, it was her support, her understanding, he would have liked the most. But what it all boiled down to was that he didn't need her support or her understanding. He would make the tough decisions. That was his job. And doing what was right wasn't always popular.

He left his office, only to be met by a soldier seeking him out. "Major, we learned why the resupply convoy is so late."

"Well?"

Passing the major a manila envelope, the soldier replied, "We found it on the hood of a disabled humvee at checkpoint zero."

With deftness, Beck opened the package and removed its contents, a message. "We have your gas, guns, and ammo. Will trade for Sheriff Green." Beck sighed and wadded up the paper.

* * *

He was awash in light, but as a moth is doomed to encircle a flame, he could not look away, for there was nowhere to look. This was the place he knew, the place he worked. The work was easy as long as he didn't let his mind get too dulled. Most people were willing to believe a lie so long as it sounded enough like the truth. They didn't question it. Neither did he anymore.

His fingers caught on the chain link fence that encircled the nondescript warehouse. Despite its less than extraordinary appearance, the place was an open secret. Most everyone knew the trucking business hauled legitimate cargo, along with the occasional illegal shipments. The cargo was inside, being sorted. Men worked on servicing the delivery trucks.

So as Jake Green glanced around Jonah Prowse's shipping compound, it all appeared familiar on the borderline of boring. Other than the inordinate brightness of the day, everyone and everything was in place.

It would be his one day to be shared with the kid.

The corner of Jake's mouth turned up. The kid was only four years younger than Jake but less experienced than a virgin on her wedding night. Jonah was teaching him the business. Emily was fuming. Jake was observing.

His boots ground into the gravel, and Jake thought he caught a whiff of the Thompson hog farm. But that was impossible. Even on a windy day in Kansas, smells didn't travel that far.

A voice from within warned, '_This is wrong somehow_.'

"Looks like you're in a bind." The kid's voice sounded younger than Jake remembered. For that matter, he looked younger than Jake remembered. Hadn't he been shaving for years? And yet the boy that stood before him appeared to be all long, gangly legs and arms, not filled out at all.

_In a bind? _No, everything was as it should be.

Except Jake had a sense that it wasn't.

Suddenly, the scene around him seemed to soundlessly explode in a burst of light, fading only slightly until Jake realized himself to be bound to a chair, a lone brilliant lamp only feet from his face.

Not this again.

Yet he found himself wanting to play off the severity of the situation. He had to protect the boy. He owed it to Emily. "I've been in worse."

"How are you going to get out?" His companion no longer appeared as boyish as Jake recalled. His youthful features were covered by a scraggly blond beard. His musculature was more fully developed.

"No clue," Jake replied.

"It's been three days."

If he'd been able, Jake would've snorted. Now, though, that took too much effort. "How do you know?"

"Just do." Jake's visitor knelt next to the chair to which he was bound. "They're going to try to break you."

Jake squinted. "Let 'em try." The words themselves were defiant, but Jake's tone had lost much of its vigor.

"C'mon. You've known men like Beck. If this doesn't work, he'll up the ante."

Jake said nothing at first and then tilted his head slightly toward his visitor. "Some help would be nice."

The blond man shook his head apologetically. "Can't. Against the rules. I get to watch, maybe offer some smartass commentary. That's all."

Some of the haze from Jake's mind began to lift. "Wait, you're…"

"Dead. Things keep going as they are, you'll be joining me. Have to say that I'd like the company, but…" his voice trailed off briefly. "…ah, hell, Jake. What are you even doing? You can't keep this up."

"No choice. Can't hand Stanley over to him."

The visitor stood and crossed his arms. "I always knew."

"Knew what?"

"You'd lay down your life for Stanley."

The burst of light came again. Jake's eyes burned as he struggled to adjust. He was back against the chain link fence, back in the compound. "He'd do the same for me."

"But you let me die. I looked up to you, trusted you."

He voiced what Jake always feared. "I told you not to go. If you'd just listened…."

"Right. The way you've been such a good listener all these years?" Jake's companion shoved his hands into his jean pockets, a movement that reminded Jake of the other man's sister. "See those barrels over there? Remember the unofficial initiation you had by members of Dad's work crew?" Jake cringed, suddenly feeling the punches he'd taken in the gut. "Those were the days."

"Why'm I seeing you now? Am I cracking?"

"I could give you some spiritual mumbo jumbo or bullshit about planes of existence. But what if I told you we have about as much control as a gambler rolling the dice? Oh, he can try for doubles, but he never knows what he's going to get."

Jake said nothing.

"So what about Emily?" Chris Prowse's eyes were much like his sister's. He could affect a wide-eyed innocence that belied the fact he very much wanted to be his father's son.

Jake's eyes burned as he tried again to squint amid the intense brightness. His eyelids no longer glided easily over his eyeballs. Too dry. And his mouth? Well, he may as well have had a mouthful of cotton. "You pick now to ask?"

"Hell, Jake, there may not be a later. Figured the least I could do is try to keep you around in the land of the living long enough to stick it out with Em this time."

Jake ignored the comment.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

"I'm being harassed by a ghost."

"Is that what you think I am? A ghost?" Chris seemed to consider Jake's off-handed comment amusing. "Guess I fit the bill. But you've gotta deal with me, Jake, and I'm far less troubling than what's coming."

"And what's that?"

But Chris didn't answer his question directly. Instead he leaned over and all but whispered in Jake's ear. "Hold on to your strength Jake. You're gonna need it." And with that, he began to walk away.

Jake turned to see his companion head toward a pickup truck.

"Where are you going?"

"To pick up Mitch. We're heading to the bank. Gonna make my dad real proud. Prove I'm not a kid anymore."

Jake shook his head. "Don't do this. If you do…."

"It's already been done. And will be done again."

"No, don't do this. Dammit, don't!"

The hues of the world around him began to change, to shift. Light flooded his vision, and he struggled to adjust to his surroundings. "Don't do this," Jake muttered.

And then the lights dimmed. The door opened. Footsteps.

Jake's eyes tracked across the ceiling. He could have sworn the cracks looked like dice.

"Get him up."

_Beck. _Jake blinked rapidly trying to adjust his eyes to be able to fully perceive his adversary. He was helped up into a chair, and his stiff joints protested.

"I want you to sign something. It's a letter from you to your Rangers rejecting their tactics in trying to secure your release."

This piqued Jake's curiosity. What had they done? A sense of pride swelled through him. It looked like Beck had underestimated the Rangers.

"Your friends have been escalating this to a level that I will not tolerate. They're putting their lives in danger out of loyalty to you. Is that what you really want? We both know where it goes from here, Jake." Beck knelt next to Jake, trying to reason with him, trying to meet him eye-to-eye. "End it right now. Agree to sign this letter. Give me Stanley's location."

The mention of Stanley only made a feeling of resolve flow through Jake. He met Beck's gaze, worked up saliva, and spat on the document Beck referenced. A man like Beck would take it in the spirit in which Jake intended: an insult. It was almost as insulting as Beck thinking he would sell out his friends, his family, their town.

Beck was momentarily taken aback by Jake's non-verbal, yet resounding, response and stood. "The offer of amnesty in exchange for Stanley Richmond is rescinded. The Rangers are now considered fugitives. I want all of them.

Jake sneered. "Good luck finding them."

"Until they're produced, I'm declaring Jericho to be in open insurrection. Lights, power, food supplies. Five p.m. tonight I'm shutting it all down."

"We've lived without that stuff before. We'll do it again."

"Do you really want to test me? See how far I'll take it. Whatever happens from here on out, never forget. You caused it."

Beck left the room. Jake could hear the door locking being barred behind the major. Then the room flooded with light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:** This story is a collaborative effort between myself and SandraDeee. Portions of dialogue from the Season 2 episode "Sedition" were used in this story, though I think we've managed to give it our own spin and fill in some missing components. Credit for some dialogue goes to Carol Barbee, Matthew Federman, and Stephen Scaia.

**Disclaimer:** Neither my co-writer nor myself own Jericho. We are merely exercising our writing muscles.

**

* * *

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**Part Two**

"No way! Hamburgers?" If not for the lack of space and physical dexterity, Bill Kohler was certain he would have done back flips when Heather Lisinski set a cardboard box on a table. The box was filled with wrapped, lukewarm sandwiches. The canned food to which the fugitive Rangers had been relegated to eating sustained them but lacked in the flavor department entirely. "I could kiss you…or cry…or…"

Heather waved her hand dismissively. "I'm not the hero. I'm just the delivery girl. You can thank Mary when you see her."

Eric Green joined the gathering group of hungry fugitives who, with the exception of Stanley Richmond, eagerly reached into the box to retrieve a burger. "And no kisses, Bill," Eric warned, semi-jokingly.

Bill replied, but Heather could not tell what he was saying, for his mouth was stuffed with food. Around the room she looked, amazed to see the moods of the inhabitants of the warehouse were improved with the help of a creature comfort—or was there something else?

"Have you heard anything from Jake?" Emily asked retrieving two burgers from the box.

The way the taller woman's eyes fell upon her made Heather feel as though she should seek cover. She wanted to hide the darkness that ringed her eyes from lack of sleep. She wanted to hide the fact that her heart beat quickly anytime Jake's name was mentioned, the fact that she felt like she was going to come apart at the seams over the thought of him being somewhere out there—somewhere unreachable. Always unreachable, actually. He shouldn't be her concern, yet he was. She felt utterly stupid for it. Stupid for doing too much. Stupid for doing too little. _Just stupid._

Heather shook her head, her façade securely in place. "Just that he's still in custody. I can't get any more details than that."

Emily appeared to be on the cusp of saying something, thought better of it, and pursed her lips before walking toward Stanley. Heather's eyes followed Emily, and she watched the slender blonde cajole Stanley to eat, to no avail. Heather's heart sank. Stanley stared straight ahead, barely acknowledging Emily. As much as Heather abhorred the thought of Jake being held prisoner, she couldn't help but admire the sacrifice that he was willing to make for his friend. Stanley, in his present state, wouldn't have lasted an hour in custody.

"Major Beck has men watching Mary, watching, well, most everyone except me, I guess."

"He trusts you. That can work to our advantage," Eric asserted.

For the couple of months that she had worked closely with the Army major, the two had grown to respect one another and, she thought, trust each other's judgment. And then there were times that she thought maybe that rapport between them extended beyond the confines of their roles. They never openly acknowledged it, which was fine by Heather, as she hadn't quite sorted her feelings toward a certain brash sheriff, either, but it was there.

And now? She couldn't entirely wrap her mind around what was happening—_had happened_—so quickly. She was disappointed in Beck, felt sickened by the turn of events, actually; yet he was so doggedly certain that his approach to handling Jericho was right, and no matter what she said, he seemed determined to cling to that belief. But there had to be something, some _way_ that she could convince him. That was one of the only reasons she stayed in her job when all she wanted to do was put as much distance between herself and the Army headquarters as she possibly could. Heather sighed, the one small outward sign of the defeat she felt. "Beck's so certain that he's right."

"Well, maybe now that we've gone all A-Team on his ass, he'll start to see things differently," Bill added, the pride of the earlier ambush on the Army supplies convoy evident in both his tone and expression.

Heather jerked her head toward Eric, a sick feeling knotting its way into her stomach. "What happened?"

Emily strode toward them, answering for Eric. "We intercepted the Army's supply lines. We'll trade the supplies for Jake."

Heather swallowed hard. _'And so begins the escalation. They push. Beck will push back. It's going to spiral out of control, and no one will win.'_

Eric studied Heather's reaction, though the young woman was obviously trying to keep a handle on her feelings. He'd spent enough time with her in New Bern to know when she was covering, and he'd be lying if he didn't admit—at least to himself—that he'd hoped her reaction would've been positive instead of so deafeningly silent. "It's not exactly the way I wanted to handle this, but what leverage do I have? Beck sure as hell can't keep Jake, and we can't give him Stanley."

Heather still said nothing, and Emily, sensing the other woman's disapproval, looked at her pointedly. "Do you have a better idea?"

"Beck won't deal," Heather replied simply.

"He has to." The way Emily spoke suggested that her mere statement would make it so.

Heather cupped her face, rubbed her eyes, and, letting her hands drop to her sides, fought to keep her voice calm. "No, he _doesn't_. I'm not…," she hesitated, "I'm not trying to be the voice of doom, but…"

Eric motioned for Heather to follow. She did, along with Emily.

Once outside of the warehouse, their conversation continued. "We have to try," Eric insisted.

"I understand what you're trying to do. Not just for Jake but for this town and its independence. But Eric, I know Edward Beck. He's not going to back down over guerrilla tactics. He feels like he has the higher moral ground here." Heather heard Emily snort softly. "He thinks he's the horse and you're the fly."

Eric's brows furrowed. "Come again."

"You're a pest to him, a problem, but in the end, the fly doesn't take the horse down."

"Ever been bitten by a horse fly?" Emily asked. "They sting like hell."

"I know Beck. He's not going to negotiate with you like this, and if you continue to cause problems for him, more troops will be sent in and people will die."

"We are _not_ surrendering," Emily insisted. "That's not an option. Look what happened to Jake."

"No one said anything about surrendering," Eric interjected. "And we will get Jake back. He didn't leave me behind in New Bern, and I'm not leaving him behind."

Heather swallowed hard. "But you're going to have to think of something else. I can keep trying to appeal to Beck and hope that maybe—_maybe_—I can change his mind or find out something to help."

Emily crossed her arms. "You may have turned riding the fence into an art form, but we're running out of time. _Jake's_ running out time. And us? We've put our asses on the line! And there you are, safe little Heather, thinking that _talking_ is going to make this situation better."

"Emily, I don't think," Eric began, but Heather interrupted.

"No, it's okay, Eric," Heather replied, holding up her hand before turning to stand toe-to-toe with the woman who had at one point been her best friend. "Let's get it all out. This has been a long time in coming anyway."

"No. I am done," Emily threw up her hands. "_You_ are weak, and I'm done with you." Emily looked to Eric. "Whatever we do, don't plan on Heather being part of the solution. Not this time."

Anger coursed through Heather. She was usually able to keep a handle on her emotions, but hearing Emily's indictment of her had Heather seeing red. "You don't know _half _the things I've done for this town, things I've done for _you_! On more than one occasion, I've put your happiness above my own because you were my friend." She chuckled humorlessly. "_You're_ done with _me_? Thanks for the favor."

"Look, Heather, Emily, this is going to get us nowhere. We need to work together or we'll come apart at the seams."

Heather looked to Eric. "I'll do what I can, keep my ears open."

Eric nodded. "If we can find out where he is, maybe we can get him out of there."

"Let us know how all that talking works out for you." With that, Emily headed inside.

Eric looked at Heather ruefully. "Emily's just worried about Jake. Don't take what she says to heart."

But as Heather walked from the warehouse to her truck, her feet crunching in the gravel, another idea began to take form. Maybe she wasn't the one who needed to do the talking.

* * *

In a perfect world, it would have been easy to get hold of Robert Hawkins. A telephone operator would have been able to connect her. A simple drop-by at his house would have solved the problem. But as Heather Lisinski was well aware, she didn't live in a perfect world, and Mr. Hawkins was decidedly elusive.

It was quite fitting, actually. Even before she knew about Robert Hawkins's role in the conspiracy behind the attacks, she'd known him to be enigmatic—and that was putting it mildly. Now she found herself wondering what angle he was playing, as well as what exactly Jake had pulled her into. But after securing the paper from the binder in Major Beck's office that showed the coordinates of the nuclear bomb that tied the Cheyenne government to the attacks, she'd not heard anything else. Certainly nothing from Beck, who continued to take his orders from Cheyenne, blissfully ignorant of the rot that lay beneath the surface. Perhaps if Mr. Hawkins could provide the evidence he had tying Cheyenne to the attacks, that would open the major's eyes to what was going on around him, or at the very least put it into perspective. For some, their defiance was bigger than Jake, bigger than Stanley.

Returning to the center of town, filled with disappointment, anger, and a whole host of other conflicting emotions, Heather was stunned to find chaos. Throngs of people were being ushered down the street. Roadblocks were being erected. Yellow notices were being posted on businesses. Windows and door were boarded.

She spotted Lieutenant Jones, one of the friendlier officers she knew. After pulling her truck off the road and parking, she quickly made her way toward him.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Lisinski, but you need to go home. I want you to stay safe, and it could get ugly out here."

"What's going on?" Heather uttered, almost afraid to hear his answer.

"Jericho's being shut down."

Heather grabbed one of his notices and felt the blood whoosh in her ears. This was what she had feared, what she had hoped to avoid. She rushed from the young lieutenant, but instead of heading toward home, maneuvered her way through the crowd to get to town hall. Sentries were posted outside all the entry points, but she was easily recognizable to them, and thus, they allowed her access.

She was a woman on a mission, forced into action by her outrage. No one tried to hinder her. After all, she was trusted.

Heather stormed into Major Beck's office, a yellow notice in her hand, stopping in front of the desk behind which he sat. She angrily slammed down the notice. "What is this?"

Beck looked at her and spoke evenly. "I think it's pretty self-explanatory. No power. No water. No food. A full embargo if those men aren't in my custody tonight." Her pained expression felt like a punch in the gut, but he couldn't allow himself the luxury of second-guessing himself or assuaging her concerns when they were at cross purposes. His assignment had to come first.

"I've been defending you to everyone. I've tried to tell them that you are not a bad person, that you're not the enemy…"

He couldn't listen to her disappointment, not when it was misdirected, and not when he fought against his own disappointment that the situation had come to this, as well. Beck interrupted, "How long or how much this town suffers is up to its citizens. Somebody knows where those men are."

Heather placed her hands on the edge of his desk and leaned forward. "The Rangers were saving lines back when you couldn't find Jericho on a map. They kept order, fought off raiders, organized the fight against New Bern. People won't just give them up."

"Whatever their reasons, this government will not tolerate insurrection."

Heather straightened. "Do you remember the question you asked when you asked me to take this job and I didn't want it? You asked me if I couldn't tell the difference between you and Phil Constantino." She paused before adding, "Right now, I can't." She couldn't bear his harsh gaze anymore and averted her eyes, seeing his helmet on his desk for the first time and the picture tucked inside it. A woman and a child. His family. Though he didn't say so, she believed he counted them among the dead. Yet they were still his family. How could he do this to other families?

Beck noticed her staring and turned the helmet over, obscuring her view of the picture. "Then help me. Talk to Jake yourself. Get him to realize what he's doing to this town."

_Jake. _Her heart raced at Beck's suggestion. She longed to see him, but not like this, not as a pawn against him.

Heather shook her head slightly. "You've had him in custody three days. He's not doing this. You are. And I—I can't keep defending you."

* * *

Light.

It surrounded him. He was starting to think it was all he knew, all he would ever know.

But then the brightness faded to the mere glow of a sunny day. He was on Main Street, where he'd been countless times. Heather was giving him advice on how to handle her truck, and he could feel anxiety emanating from her, almost in waves.

She looked so luminous in the sun. Did she know?

"Maybe you should take a horse."

No, she didn't know.

_This moment_. Why _this_ moment? The thought was fleeting as he studied her—the concern in her voice, the way her blue eyes stood out from her dark lashes—as they were next to the old red truck she called Charlotte, and he felt the familiar tug that he had tried repeatedly to suppress.

"A horse won't get me there as fast," he found himself replying automatically, the same words he had once used.

"A horse is less likely to blow up." The pitch of her voice rose, an elevation which he recognized mirrored her increased fear for him. Knowing her as he did, he knew she was running through multiple worst case scenarios in her mind, imagining every problem that could occur and trying to solve those problems, whether they were real or imagined.

And then Jake found himself chuckling. His amusement only served to make her frown deepen. "What's so funny?"

Jake gestured around them, the flurry of activity on Main Street. "This. We've done it before." He touched the truck, his fingers leaving an imprint in the dirt that coated it.

"Come again?"

"You're about to warn me about not getting shot at on the left side. And then you're going to kiss me."

"What?!? _No_." Her cheeks colored.

"Why are we back at this point?" A part of him wanted to brush aside the question, wanted to simply relive that brief moment when she clung to him, that moment when their lives intersected so perfectly and so unexpectedly.

Her voice quivered. "Are you sure you should go to Rogue River? I mean, you're not acting like yourself. If you got there and fell ill…"

"Eric went—is going—with me."

"Oh. That's good to know." She paused. "Jake, I'm serious. You sound really strange. I don't think you should go."

"If I don't, my father will die." Then his words hit him. "He's going to die anyway."

Heather, misunderstanding the meaning behind his words, tried to offer words of encouragement. "Don't talk like that. Your dad is strong. His body just needs a little help."

But he remembered all too well seeing his father, pale, bleeding, lying on the table of the Richmond farm house. How he breathed his last breaths, but not before saying those words Jake had longed to hear: "I'm proud of you."

The honking of a horn interrupted them. Jake's heart leapt a bit when he saw his old Road Runner. He'd had to leave it behind in New Bern when he went for Eric, but this moment was before then.

Jake watched, expecting Emily to emerge as she once had, but instead, it was Chris. And then silence. Stillness. Everything else except the two men stopped, the people walking, the sounds of the town around them. Even Heather was frozen, a look of worry etched onto her delicate features.

"You again." At one point, Jake would have been overjoyed to see Chris Prowse, but now it seemed the blond man brought with him a sense of foreboding.

"Making up for lost time," Chris replied as he circled Heather. His fingers ran along the hem of her red sweater. "She's pretty. A little wholesome for you, don't you think?"

Jake's eyes narrowed. "What is this? _Groundhog Day_ meets Dickens? Purgatory?"

"Dickens?" Chris repeated with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "No. Though I guess you could argue it's a purgatory of your own making. Well, with a little help from your friends, as the song goes."

It was then that Jake zeroed in on the dice hanging on the rear-view mirror of the car.

He swallowed hard. "I'm still in that room." And the realization brought back memories that crept along the edge of his consciousness.

"Yeah, but I don't think you want to go back right now."

"Why would Heather be part of this? And why this moment?"

"Bad memory?" Chris asked.

The right corner of Jake's mouth turned up. "Not exactly."

"Who is Heather to you?"

Jake considered Chris's question. In another time, another world, maybe things would have been different. Hell, so much would've been different. Probably not this. Heather deserved better than him. "A friend."

"Never anything more?"

Jake shook his head. "I wouldn't let myself go there. She didn't need my baggage."

Chris nearly snorted. "There is plenty of that. She's tied to you anyway. You brought her into your fight with Beck."

"I needed her help. I didn't have a choice." But even as he said the words, they sounded hollow to him.

"Look at her. At this moment, she's so innocent of what's to come. All she has right now is hope. You gave her the wrong end of the deal. And as much as I hate to say it, so did Em."

"How do you know…" Jake stopped short as Chris raised his eyebrows, and with a flash of light, wordlessly disappeared. The flurry of activity that had stopped on its tracks resumed.

"Wow! Where did _that_ come from?" Heather asked, immediately spotting the blue Plymouth.

"That's mine," Jake replied.

"She's a beauty," Heather murmured as she moved closer to the vehicle to get a better look. "She'll get you there faster than Charlotte," she added, Jake thought, a little wistfully. "I don't know why I was even thinking of sending you in that old truck when you have this."

Guilt washed over Jake. Of course, she didn't know about the car. Hell, _he_ hadn't known about the car until Emily had shown up with it, begged off her father. But it hadn't been Emily this time, and a part of him was glad for that, glad to have this moment with the young woman who stood before him, even if it wasn't entirely real.

"Heather."

She turned her attention from the car back to him. "Can you think of anything else you need?"

"Yeah, I can." And then he reached out, his hands moving to her hips, and pulled her toward him. She gasped in surprise, but any reticence she may have had quickly dissipated, and she rested her hands against his chest.

It seemed to happen so slowly, as though time itself crept achingly along. Their eyes met, and Jake knew he should let her go, leave this memory behind. To continue to want what he could not have would not serve either of them well. Yet he couldn't let go. Not yet. His hand trailed up the small of her back, drawing her even closer. And then their lips touched.

It was just as he remembered. She tasted sweet, a tantalizing hint of what could have come if circumstances had been different. Her body felt supple against his, and he was amazed at how well they fit one another.

His kiss deepened. He wanted to consume her and be consumed by her. He couldn't get close enough to her, and he knew it was about more than this moment. It was every bit of pent up frustration, every ounce of longing he'd felt, from all those times he glanced across the room at town hall to find her a polite stranger, to those quiet moments when they'd shared stale coffee and conversations that masked what he really wanted to say to her. The kiss was an apology and, he thought, a resolution. But if anything, he felt less settled.

Finally, he broke the kiss. Her ivory cheeks were flushed, her breathing shallow. He leaned his forehead against hers, still holding her close. "I promise to come back in one piece."

"Good," she managed to say.

"And to watch out for giant irradiated ants."

The corners of her mouth curled into a smile, despite the worry he knew she felt.

"Ah hell, Jake, what are you doing?" Chris's voice coming from behind him cut into the moment. "Do you need a reminder of what things are really like between you?"

Main Street faded from view, almost as though in a blur around him. He kept Heather in his sight for as long as he could, and then even she faded away, oblivious to the change around them. And then Jake was home, or more specifically, outside his parents' house. It was night, but the sky held an eerie glow.

And then he and Chris were inside the house, though they had not actually entered through the door. "What's—"

A knocking on the door interrupted Jake's question to Chris. "You going to answer that?"

"What are you?" Jake asked. "My imagination? Am I so far gone I'm dreaming you up?"

Chris shrugged, his eternally youthful face marred by a smirk. "Earlier you thought I was a ghost. Take your pick." He cleared his throat, much like Jake remembered he used to do. "Now, aren't you going to answer that? You really should see this through."

Jake grabbed the doorknob and turned it, pulling the door open, just as Heather was about to knock again. She narrowly missed knocking him in the face. And then when he saw the expression on her face, he wondered if she didn't wish that she _had_ hit him.

"It's you." The harshness of her voice was unmistakable, but it was tinged with something else not easily identifiable.

Jake swallowed hard and looked back to Chris who sat on the second step on the staircase, observing the scene with keenest interest. He turned back to Heather. "I do live here," he found himself reminding her, just as he had done about two weeks earlier.

He watched as Heather shifted from one foot to the other. "Emily sent a message that she was having some kind of oven crisis, but if you're here, she doesn't really need me, so…" Heather's voice trailed off.

Jake tried to ignore Chris's chuckle. As Jake recalled, Emily's oven crisis hadn't been much of a crisis; it had been more of a self-imposed panic brought on by a power surge that had tripped the circuit breaker needed to power the oven/stove top combination.

"You don't have to rush off."

Heather shook her head slightly. "I can't stay."

She turned to walk away, and Jake, feeling her slipping from his grasp, made one last-ditch plea. "Heather, wait."

She paused, turned around, and sighed, "I can't." With that simple statement, she resumed her short trek down the front steps.

Jake jumped as he realized that Chris was suddenly peering over his shoulder and offering commentary. "Hmmm, she doesn't look quite as fresh-faced and hopeful as she did before, does she? And just like that, she's out of reach."

Jake's teeth grazed his bottom lip. Chris had a point; Heather looked as though she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. Between planting her smack in the middle of the simmering conflict between Beck and himself, as well as their constant emotional tug-of-war, Jake knew he had hefted the weight on her. "This is exactly what happened. She left, and I let her go."

"You've perfected that move to a science," Chris commented. "_You_ let me go on that job. Got myself killed."

"I couldn't have stopped you. You said so yourself."

Chris persisted. "You let Em go when I died."

Jake swallowed hard, the memories of those moments coming at him hard and fast: Emily's tears, her screaming, her blame, her fists beating against his chest. "She threw me out."

"She was hurting," Chris shot back. "I might've been a hell raiser, but I was the only little brother she had. That we know of," he added. "She needed you, and you ran."

Jake's eyes followed Heather as she continued walking down the sidewalk, her outline getting smaller and smaller the further away we got. The source of Jake's attention was not lost on Chris. "Guess you and Em are doomed to rinse and repeat. If this little show proves nothing else, you're going to leave her behind again. Assuming you get out of here, of course."

"What's the point of all this?" Jake demanded. "Trying to show me where I've failed? Believe me, I know my shortcomings."

"So what are you going to do about them, Jake? Are you going to run from what has to be done?"

"_Get him up,"_ the brusque voice of Major Beck seemed to filter through on the night wind.

Jake looked to Chris who faded from view, along with the familiarity of the house. Instead, he was back in confinement. The light, his constant companion, was directed into his eyes by an unseen soldier after he was pulled into a wooden chair and the binds on his hands were tightened behind him.

"I came to tell you that I'm shutting Jericho down." Beck's voice held no satisfaction, no hint of gloating. He spoke without emotion.

Jake's eyes, dry and weary, struggled to focus on the Army major. He said nothing.

"Do you really want to see how far I will take this?" Beck asked. "Tell me where the Rangers are."

"_What are you going to do? You going to run from this?"_ Chris's voice filled his mind, and Jake blinked, the motion painful as his eyes burned from their dryness. _"You letting the Rangers go, too?" _

His lips were chapped, his throat was parched, but with the all the strength and conviction he could muster, Jake gave Beck his answer. "Go to hell."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes:** This story is a collaborative effort between myself and SandraDeee. Portions of dialogue from the Season 2 episode "Sedition" were used in this story, though I think we've managed to give it our own spin and fill in some missing components. Credit for some dialogue goes to Carol Barbee, Matthew Federman, and Stephen Scaia.

**Disclaimer:** Neither my co-writer nor myself own Jericho. We are merely exercising our writing muscles.

**

* * *

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**Part Three**

Heather Lisinski felt alone in the crowded room.

She had heard the saying before, understood it, but never experienced it. Not until New Bern. Now that feeling of solitude was her constant companion all over again. As she looked around the open office filled with Beck's soldiers, each completing a task, she tried to turn her attention to her own work.

When she agreed to be a liaison for the military, she did so thinking she would be able to bridge the gap between the military's wants and the town's needs. Now she felt pulled in both directions, belonging nowhere. The dissolution of her friendship with Emily, the disagreement she'd had with Beck—both were painfully indicative of her life.

Yes, alone in a crowded room.

Her thoughts fell on the Rangers hiding out in the warehouse. Emily had been disgusted with her. Stanley had been lost in his own memories and grief. Eric had seemed so certain that they would get Jake back, but the more time that passed, the more Heather began to doubt that. Would he be shipped off to Loomis Ridge the way Dale Turner almost was? She had honestly thought she could reach Beck, but she was pushing aside that notion as foolishness. Just because the two had a rapport, that didn't mean Edward Beck would put himself on the line for their town, especially not when it interfered with his duty. Jake had tried to tell her as much not long ago.

_Jake._

She felt a lump form in her throat, and she tried to push it away. She wouldn't be any help to him if she didn't keep it together. Her tears wouldn't help him now.

But the thought of him out there somewhere, a prisoner, tore at her. As usual, her imagination painted a picture she'd rather not see. Was he bound? Were they giving him food? Water? Did he know what they were doing to the town? She had heard of some of the tactics they used on the New Bern resistance members, but that had not hit home then. After learning a bounty had been placed on her head, she had been less than sympathetic. But now? She wished she had listened more, asked more questions.

_Jake._

What could she do for him? How could she help him if she didn't even know where he was? No one was talking. Each time she tried to ask questions of Beck's men, she would get a friendly but firm, "I can't tell you about that, Ms. Lisinski." Could she walk back into Beck's office and agree to go to Jake under the guise of convincing him to give up the Rangers? At least she would be able to see him, know how he was doing. She didn't actually have to do what the major asked of her…

_Jake._

The thought of him suffering…

She swallowed hard. _Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together. Stay focused._

But it was difficult to stay focused when she kept seeing the black hood pulled over his head, as though he were a criminal on his way to an execution. Or when the last time they'd really spoken, she'd been so angry with him.

Heather's eyes fell upon the small table that housed the coffee pot. She remembered the day about two weeks ago when she had stood at that table, pouring herself a cup of coffee after retrieving the page of data from the aerial radiation survey report in Beck's office. That day, she felt as though she would come apart at the seams. Jake had praised her to Mr. Hawkins, saying that he knew she would want to help expose the new government.

But Heather hadn't done it for the greater good.

She had done it for Jake.

Even still, she simply could not equate Edward Beck with the corruption, and she had felt sick over the thought of betraying his trust. Beck had even defended her when one of his men accused her of accessing classified material. And when it was all done, and Beck apologized for the man, Heather left his office and stood at that table pouring herself a cup of coffee. A damn cup of coffee.

Jake had casually strolled over to the table, standing next to her, giving the appearance that he was waiting to pour himself a cup.

"I'm done," Heather said.

To the casual observer, it might have appeared that she was indicating she was done with the coffee pot or the beet sugar they had managed to gather to sweeten the bitter coffee. But she looked at him, and he at her, and the look of understanding that passed between them delivered a far different message, and it had nothing to do with coffee.

She had the paper. Hawkins and the package were safe. _For now._

Her hands shook as she reached for a spoon to stir her drink. Jake reached down, steadying them. His hands were warm. Hers were cold. "You okay?" His voice was low.

_Betrayal of trust? All in a day's work_, she thought bitterly. "Sure."

With that, she brushed past him.

She was shaken.

She was spent.

_She was angry_.

Even in retrospect, she could not entirely pinpoint why she had been so livid.

Was it the betrayal of someone who trusted her? Truth be told, Major Beck had been one of the few bright spots in her life since returning from New Bern and discovering that nothing was as she'd left it. He valued her input, didn't treat her as fragile or suspicious for having been in New Bern, and on more than one occasion, went to bat for her.

Was it the fact that just when she thought things were looking up for them in town, she discovered the government that was supposed to be bringing order to their country was nothing but a fraud? They were sitting on a powder keg, and someone had just lit a match.

Or was it the fact that Jake still had such a hold on her? Anything he asked, she would have done for him. He made her feel weak. He made her feel strong. Most of all, he made her _feel_.

After encountering Jake, she returned to her desk, gathered a few files, and headed to the lobby to take the stairs to the basement. The archive room would provide some much needed cover. When she made her way there, her key opened the locked door, allowing her access to the room. She turned on the light and propped open the door.

The archives room smelled old and was filled with metal shelves in rows, each one weighted down with boxes of items. Over the previous weeks, she had spent some time down there categorizing items taken from what had been empty offices prior to the Army moving in. She had certainly gotten to know her way around the place.

So when she heard footsteps, she was surprised. No one ever came down to the archives. She turned to look at the new arrival, though even if she hadn't, she was fairly certain she would have known who it was. "What are you doing down here?"

Jake closed the door behind him. "I was worried about you."

"Don't," Heather replied pulling a box from the shelf and placing some papers inside. She returned it to the shelf and moved to the next box, refusing to meet Jake's eyes. "I'm going to keep it together like I always do. I won't go blabbing to Beck." Realizing it wasn't the correct box, she shoved it back onto the shelf, turned to move on down the line, and nearly ran into him. Jake stood in her path, and Heather realized he wasn't going away. Not unless she made him. "Look, I didn't survive New Bern only to come back here and get executed for treason."

"That's not what I meant. I'm worried about _you_." He reached out, placing his hands on her shoulders.

His hands were warm. So warm. She wanted to melt under his heat, to be pulled to him. She needed—no, it wasn't going to happen. Not ever. No matter how many looks or unspoken what-if's. She shrugged away his touch. "Jake, I'm not a problem that needs fixing. Even if I were, that's not your job." Her tone was sharp.

"My _job_? Heather, do you really think I see you as problem to solve?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Why are you so angry?"

Why indeed? "I'm not." But her tone was still terse as she pushed past him and moved to another section of the room, carrying a file folder to be stored.

"If you say so." His own impatience was beginning to show through, but he followed. "Heather—"

She didn't want to meet his gaze –not really—because when she looked at him, everything seemed to get so much more complicated, and her life was complicated enough. But there he was again. Standing so near her, and she couldn't resist. "Maybe all this cloak and dagger stuff is fun for you, but I'm not a spy. I don't even like spy movies! And what I did today…"

"Probably saved a hell of a lot of lives," he said bluntly.

"And I would do it again. But do you know he defended me?" Her hand splayed across her chest. "I lied to his _face_, Jake, and he defended me."

"You did the right thing, and Beck's not on board with that."

"Do you hear yourself? Beck is one of the best men I've ever know. He's honorable…and, and…kind."

Jake sucked in a breath. "You're in love with him."

She shook her head. "He's married." Her argument sounded weak as she said it. She wouldn't be the first woman to fall for a married man, but it wasn't as simple as that. "I respect him. He's straightforward. What you see if what you get."

"He's blindly following orders from a rogue government. Don't talk yourself into thinking it doesn't matter. Rather than asking questions, he's taking the easy way out."

"You want to talk about the easy way out? What about you?" she asked, her hand extended outward, palm up.

Jake's eyes flashed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Heather wanted to shrink. _If only she could._ Jake had no obligation to her. They weren't in a relationship when she left for New Bern. And could she really blame him for not being ready to be with her when everything was so unsettled? It wasn't the time or place to be starting something new. She respected that. Was disappointed, but it was okay.

And there was no reason he and Emily shouldn't be together. Whatever issues they'd shared had obviously been worked out. She knew all this logically.

But sometimes when she saw him across the room, it was no longer logical. Reason ceased to exist, and in its place was an endless longing. His looks weren't friendly; they were intense. And when they spoke, he always seemed to be on the cusp of…of something.

And still he wouldn't acknowledge it. So, yes, she did figure he'd taken the easy way out, but what good did it do to hash it out? Nothing was going to change. "I don't want to fight with you. Let's drop this."

But he wouldn't let it go. "You brought it up. You think _anything_ in my life is easy?"

She shook her head. "Not really. I don't know anyone here who's done more for this town and its people than you. But I also know that old habits die hard."

"Heather…"And then she thought she saw realization in his eyes. He lifted his hands to reach for her, and then thought better of it. "I'm sorry. About everything."

She nodded. "So am I. But you don't owe me anything."

"_Heather."_ Edward Beck's crisp voice roused Heather from her reverie. "The coffee pot's still there."

She shook off the memory. "I guess I just have a lot on my mind."

The words were innocuous enough, but he knew what she getting at. He didn't want things to be strained between them. He would do his job even when it wasn't easy, even when his decisions were not popular. Conversely, he valued her opinion, her judgment, both as a trusted colleague and as more. "May I speak with you in my office?"

She nodded, and the two entered the glass room in sight of everyone but out of earshot. Heather stood, her hands folded together. Beck leaned against his desk.

"Please know I've thought about what you said."

"I sense a 'but.'"

He heard the disappointment in her voice. What he would've given to hear understanding there instead, but that wasn't Heather Lisinski. She challenged him, made him…God, if only circumstances were different. But still he wanted her understanding. She was the only one who made him feel human anymore. "I need you to understand my position."

Heather swallowed hard. She forced herself to look at his dark eyes. "It doesn't matter what I think. You've made it clear you're going to do what you please."

"'What I please'?" he echoed, standing up and walking behind his desk, his back to her. "This isn't what I want."

"Then put an end to it. I _beg_ you. Before it goes too far."

He spun around. "It's already gone too far! Vigilantism cannot be allowed—"

"And two wrongs don't make a right! I know. Believe me that I know you're in a bad spot. I do. But Major Beck," her voice softened, "you need to step back and look at the bigger picture."

He exhaled loudly, his mask slipping. He was gravitating toward her, could almost touch her, was near desperate to, if for nothing else than to make her know he wasn't a machine. But he remembered himself. "The big picture? That's all I do. I asked Jake for twelve hours. Told him not to do anything stupid, and when I came back John Goetz was strung up outside of New Bern with half his head blown off."

"Same picture. Different perspective."

"How am I supposed to see that? Is it acceptable to you that a man was executed without a trial?"

"He wouldn't be the first," Heather challenged, crossing her arms. "Did Constantino's deputy get a trial?"

Beck chose not to address her last question, instead returning to the matter at hand. "This isn't about pride. What the Rangers and the New Bern resistance did was foolish. _Damn foolish_. Stringing Goetz up?"

The image in her mind made her shudder. Nevertheless, she found it difficult to muster much sympathy for the man. Her own run-in with him had left little doubt in her mind that he was a sociopath. "Goetz was a horrible man."

"But this wasn't just about Goetz. If it was, why not simply make him disappear? Or fabricate a story about him leaving town? My understanding is that J&R terminated his employment."

Heather swallowed hard. "Are you saying you would've looked the other way?"

"I'm saying that by stringing up his corpse as a calling card, I never had that option!" Beck took a deep breath, centering himself before continuing. "This region has advertised itself as an insurgent hotspot. My superiors have taken note, and contrary to what you might think, the Rangers are fortunate that I'm here to try to restore order. You don't want to see what will happen to this place if my mission is unsuccessful. I'm just the first line, Heather." Beck stopped, realized that he was standing closer than decorum dictated, but remained at her side, in her space.

_Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together._

Heather felt emotion choking her voice as she opened her mouth to speak. This was senseless. All of it. But there was no turning back. "Ask yourself why these people are so opposed to J&R, to the military, to Cheyenne. These are _good_ people." She paused, looking him square in the eyes, "I still believe _you're_ a good man."

Beck took a step back, but he may as well have built a wall in the process. "I apologize. I should not have burdened you with this further. It's not part of your job description."

"You're right," she replied with a sigh, resigning herself to the knowledge that the window of opportunity was closing. "You want me to tell you it's okay, but it's not."

"You have made it clear how you feel on the matter."

"Is Jake okay?" Heather asked suddenly.

Beck gave a perfected response. "He is in an undisclosed location being held for questioning."

"But is he _okay_? Will you let me see him?" Heather's words tumbled out in a flurry of desperation. _Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together._

He had sensed that there was something between Heather and Jake the first day she came back to Jericho. He had watched with keen interest how the two embraced. Yet since then, he had seen little to suggest the closeness he perceived that day. Now he was beginning to rethink his earlier impression. "What?"

"You asked me to go talk to Jake earlier. I've been thinking I should."

Beck shook his head. No, Heather was not the one to make Jake Green see reason. "That request is rescinded." She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued, "If you will please excuse me." He walked to the chair behind his desk and sat.

Wordlessly, she retreated from the office. Heather stood outside the door, momentarily stunned.

Everything was falling apart. Maybe Emily was right. Maybe she had been riding both sides of the fence. Maybe she had been too comfortable.

And maybe Jake had been right, as well. Beck was too devoted to his ideals to question what was right in front of him.

Heather felt a chill run through her.

_Jake._

Beck never answered her question. Not fully.

She prayed to God he was okay.

And she went to her desk, keeping her ears open, hoping to hear something that would clue her in to his whereabouts. As she looked around, she realized she was alone in her convictions.

She was alone in a crowded room.


End file.
